Bundle of Joy (12 page)

His grin was a wicked blend of self-mocking and brazen. "You're half right. I get plenty of hot water in the summer."

She started to ask him why he lived in such spartan quarters but common sense told her you didn't make a fortune working as a short order cook in a neighborhood bar. Property was expensive in central New Jersey and he had probably bought exactly what he could afford.

He was fiddling with the swan's neck faucet at the sink, making appreciative male noises about the plumbing fixtures in general and there was something about his proprietary interest that set off warning signals in Caroline's brain. "Before you get too attached to that swan, let me show you your bathroom."

"Should've known this was too good to be true." He gave the swan's neck faucet a fond farewell glance. "What do you have for me, Bradley--a slop jar and basin?"

She couldn't help chuckling at the image. "Afraid you'll have to make do with something a little bit more upscale than that." She led him down the hallway, then opened the second door on her right and flicked on the light. "Will this do?"

Charlie made a show of checking out the sleek, ultra-modern fixtures, the elaborately papered walls, the elegantly recessed lighting that flattered everything and everybody in the room. "It's either this or the Sunoco station down the road."

"I take it you're satisfied?"

He nodded. "Do I sleep in here, too?"

She thought of the big bed in her room and for an instant she imagined she saw Donohue, bare-chested and glorious, sitting in it waiting for her with a can of Coors in his hand. Fortunately for her sanity, the image receded quickly. "Why--why don't you take my room for tonight and I'll see about fixing up something in the guest room tomorrow?" She'd take one of the overstuffed sofas in the living room or the leather recliner in the den. Anything rather than face the inevitable showdown across the sheets.

"Let me guess: you'll be someplace else."

"You're a smart man, Charles." She told him of her alternatives.

"I'll take the couch," he said. "Just point me toward the pillows."

"You're certain you don't want the bedroom?"

The look he gave her erased all doubts. She'd forgotten what it was like to deal with the more macho type of man. "I'm taking the couch."

Strange, but she'd expected him to kick up more of a fuss. "You're not angry with the arrangement?"

"I may not be one of those preppies you usually hang out with, but I have some rules. The first one is, I don't take beds away from pregnant women."

She swallowed hard. "I--I apologize for being thoughtless. I should have made some arrangements for you." She waved her hand in the general direction of the guest room. "I promise things will be in order tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, I forced the issue on living together, didn't I? I'm probably lucky I'm not sleeping on the patio."

Her first smile in hours flickered to life. "That could still be arranged."

He smiled back. "Hell, no. I'll take the couch."

They stood there in the bathroom, Charlie near the toilet, Caroline near the tub.

"I suppose I'll say goodnight." Caroline hesitated. Did they shake hands? Kiss cheeks? What on earth was the protocol for a situation like this. "There's work tomorrow and all...."

Charlie shifted position. "The Yankees are playing in California. Would you mind if I put the TV on?"

"No, not at all. Enjoy yourself."

He started to say something, some
double entendre
reference to a honeymoon-for-one probably, but instead he only smiled. "Good night, Caroline."

"Good night, Charles."

And so the newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Charles Donohue retired for the night--to their separate beds.

v

Charlie couldn't sleep.

He'd tried hot milk (disgusting), counting sheep (ridiculous), doing push-ups in the middle of her living room (pointless). Nothing worked. He wasn't used to hitting the hay this early. Normally he was at work until two a.m., then shot a little pool or went to an all-night gym to unwind.

Tired or not, there was no way in hell he could sleep surrounded by all these fancy little knick-knacks and things sc
attered all about the room. If he turned over in his sleep, he'd wipe out half the Wedgwood in captivity. He'd never seen so many damn little things in one room in his life--or, at least, not since he was a kid.

What possessed a fairly normal, rational woman to surround herself with so many useless objects? Did she buy them just to give the cleaning lady something to do or did she actually like these idiotic things? Damn. If he had an answer to that, he'd be able to put most shrinks out of business. Everywhere he looked he saw tiny crystal bud vases, silver candlesticks, green plants in china pots, and other unidentifiable pieces of junk. Not that the stuff didn't look good, because it did. Everything about the apartment looked as if it had been picked out by a decorator from
House Beautiful
. It was just that the room was so overwhelmingly female that Charlie felt like a bull let loose in a roomful of Steuben glass.

Sneeze once and it was all over.

He thought about sleeping out on the deck but decided against it. Knowing Caroline, she'd probably be scandalized if her neighbors saw him out there with his pillow and his Walkman. Somehow it wasn't quite the wedding night most people dream about. He punched the pillow, scrunched it under his head, then squeezed his eyes tightly closed. His head was butted up against the unyielding arm of the sofa while his legs dangled off the other end. Sleeping on a bed of nails would be more comfortable than this modern nightmare.

He had a lot to look forward to.

#

Caroline wasn't faring much better.

Lying in her big brass bed, she felt alone for the first time in many years. Her home was different with Donohue in it. She couldn't explain how or why, but it seemed to Caroline that his presence was everywhere. Was he asleep, she wondered, or roaming about the apartment, feeling uncomfortable and out-of-place? Maybe he was hungry. She hadn't even bothered to show him the kitchen. She had sandwich fixings in the refrigerator and, thanks to Sam and Murphy, a few six packs of Coors tucked away. Beer wasn't one of her favorite things. She hoped he didn't make a hobby of drinking the stuff or--dear God, what a thought!--collecting the beer cans.

She could just imagine her elegant dining room walls with a mosaic of Coors/Bud Lite/Heineken framing the doorway.

That did it. She reached for the telephone and dialed Sam's number as she had been doing during times of trouble for the past twenty years....

#

The first day of school was always the hardest.

Carly Bradley stood in the doorway of her second grade classroom and felt that old familiar pain in her stomach. She hated school almost as much as she hated her step-father. Both made her feel small and insignificant, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her in a million different directions. Her stepfather did his best to pretend she didn't exist. He hated it that her mom had been married before he came along, and he especially hated Carly, the living breathing proof that there had been someone else. Tom Gretchner was a foul-tempered sort, the kind who scratched his belly and belched and did all sorts of disgusting things, but, at least, he did it in the house he shared with Carly's mom and twin baby brothers. Carly's shame was as private as her hopes and dreams.

But school was different. In school they tried to push and pull at you until you had no secrets left at all. Why, even the clothes you wore could tell a story. A story that you might not want anyone to hear.

Annie Riley was wearing a brand new plaid skirt and matching vest that Carly had seen in the window of Epstein's Department Store last week. The Rileys didn't have a whole lot of money, but Mrs. Riley always saved up her nickels and dimes so she could outfit her daughters in the finest clothes come September, even if it meant she went without. Connie Venturo's mom had knitted her a beautiful sweater in hunter green. It wasn't easy for Mrs. Venturo, with a job and everything. Carly just knew there was love in every stitch. Even Sandy Adamson, the most stuck-up girl in school, had someone who loved her. The pleats on her charcoal grey skirt were knife-sharp and her shimmery white blouse with poet sleeves and a portrait collar was ironed to within an inch of its life.

Carly glanced down at her mended cardigan and thrift shop jumper and bit back tears of embarrassment. Why, even the boys looked prettier than she did.

"Now don't you be worrying what people think of you, miss," her mother had said that morning as she tugged a comb through Carly's tangled blond hair. "You've got clean clothes on your back and that's more than you deserve."

"Is she bellyaching again?" Tom had lumbered into the room, his face bristly with stubble. "That's what you get for sending her to that fancy school."

Her mother tugged harder with the comb and Carly cried out. "Stand still!" Letty barked. "The school bus will be here any minute."

"School bus," muttered Tom. "Damn stupid crap. Why can't she walk to the town school like everybody else? Who do you think she is anyway? Princess of the world?"

Carly waited, breath caught in her throat, for her mother to say that Carly wasn't
like everybody else, that's why, but those words never came. She wanted her mother to say her daughter was special, too good for that rundown grade school at the bottom of the hill. But, of course, Letty didn't say anything like that. Carly's mom had a lot of faults but she wasn't a liar. She'd sent her daughter to the school in Rocky Hill because it sounded better and for no other reason. Carly had seen the pleased look on her mother's face when customers on her checkout line at the A&P heard that Letty's kid was in a real nice school on the right side of the tracks.

Everything Letty did, she did for Letty and no one else. That was a fact of life, same as the fact that the first day of school set the tone for the rest of the year.

Inside the classroom the kids laughed and pushed each other and told stories about their summer vacations. Carly clutched her schoolbag and pencil box closer to her chest and tried to shrink even smaller. If only she looked like them, all crisp and neat and new, things would be different. She wouldn't be standing in the doorway, agonizing over which seat to take. If she marched right into the room and took a place next to--oh, right next to Billy Walker the whole class would buzz about it. "Who does she think she is?" they'd say. "Billy's the richest boy in school."

If she sat up front it would look like she was begging for attention. If she slunk to the back, the kids would snicker and say that's where she belonged. Her stepfather had himself one terrible reputation in Rocky Hill and the surrounding towns and Carly could only thank her lucky stars that he and Letty had been too lazy to see that he formally adopted Carly and changed her name from Bradley to Gretchner.

"Hi, Caroline!"

She turned in the direction of the friendly voice next to her. Samantha Dean, her inky black hair neatly braided and tied at the ends with red grosgrain ribbons, smiled at her with a mouth full of silver braces. Sam's family didn't have money, Carly knew, but even the Deans managed to do what was right for their daughter.

Carly looked down at her feet, feeling suddenly tongue-tied and shy. "Hi," she mumbled. Samantha was one of the most popular kids in the whole school. There wasn't a kid around who didn't like Sam.

"I like your locket," Sam said, peering at the gold charm hanging from a thin chain around Carly's neck. "It's pretty."

"It was my grandma's. She's dead."

Sam nodded. "My Grandma Dean is dead too." She stuck her head into the classroom. "We better get in there fast or we'll end up sitting right under Mrs. Sullivan's nose."

Carly froze in place. There were five empty seats. Did she follow Sam inside? Did she herself lead the way? She knew she would die of embarrassment when Sam chose to sit far away from her. The choices seemed endless and every single one of them could only lead to pointing out just how Carly didn't fit in with the rest of them.

"There are two seats by the window. Let's take them before Mrs. Sullivan gets here."

Carly still didn't move. What was the matter with Sam anyway? Didn't she know that Carly wasn't like the rest of them, that she just didn't fit in? All Sam had to do was look at Carly's mended K-Mart clothes and choppy haircut to see she wasn't like the others.

But Sam didn't seem to care. She slipped her arm through Carly's. "Well, come on, will you?" she said, pulling Carly toward the door. "You don't want to sit on opposite sides of the room, do you?"

Carly choked back the great big fat lump that had popped up in her throat. "N-no, I don't," she managed. "I wouldn't like that at all."

"Good," said Sam with a great big silvery smile, "because I think we're going to be best friends."

#

A great deal had changed in the twenty-plus years since that fateful day but one thing had not: Caroline and Samantha were still the best of friends.